


As Long as You'll Have Me

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: Among Magic and Relics [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boys In Love, Cute, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: Wong waits for Stephen through five years of loneliness. He always knew Stephen would return some day.





	As Long as You'll Have Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look. A new pairing because I didn't have enough already.

The aftermath.

It wasn’t pleasant. It should have been.

Stephen stepped into the familiar warmth of the Sanctum, felt the way the energy curled around him, a symphony of welcomes from the relics that had stood guard all these years. They couldn’t know the passing of time or the way his heart constricted with each inhale and beat in his chest.

Home. Of one kind.

“Stephen.”

Wong stood on the bottom step, having dutifully guarded the Sanctum these past five years. He looked well and Stephen couldn’t help but smile despite the lines on his face born from exhaustion and grief.

There hadn’t been time, in the aftermath of the battle, to speak frankly, honestly. There had been so much to do, and only Stephen stuck around to handle the complications and explanations. The sorcerers returned to their duties and Wong returned here, to wait, like he always did.

In all the futures he had viewed, that had been the one constant, the one held true. Wong, waiting. Patiently.

It was difficult to find words. Stephen’s mind swirled with knowledge and an ache in the empty space where they eye once hung. That was the least of his pains of course, loss hovering over him like a cloud, the guilt of a murderer, even if he had no other choice.

The look in Wong’s eyes revealed that he knew, that he understood. He always did. His lips tightened and Stephen recognized the movement as an avoidance of emotion and Stephen felt pulled thin, too much skin stretched across bones, too old for the careful dance he and Wong had been doing from the start.

Stephen swallowed thickly, clenched the edge of the Cloak in a fist, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

That earned a wry smile, “then or now?”

“Both.”

Wong shook his head, descended the last step, “I knew you had a plan, and as always it proved unorthodox.”

Stephen forced a smile, “I don’t know any other way.”

Wong came to a stop only a few feet in front of him, the distance felt both too close on his prickling skin and too far, “a lot has changed, and I think you’ll have even more to answer for.”

“I know,” he did, better than anyone.

Wong’s dark eyes ran over the length of him, swept back up to his face and fixated on the gash at his temple, sluggishly bleeding again, now that he was back in a world where his heart and body functioned naturally.

“Come on,” Wong nodded at the wound. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Stephen didn’t protest when Wong reached out to wrap a hand gently around his wrist, mindful of his aching hands. There was a moment of hesitation and Stephen hated it, having lost and seen too much to pretend his old friend wasn’t what he wanted and needed right now, more then anything.

Wong led him to one of the many small, ornate bathrooms and guided him to sit on the edge of the tub. The Cloak, still recovering from its own dusting, shifted off his shoulders and flowed softly into his lap, where it curled up protectively. Stephen pet at the fabric carefully, watching as Wong wet a rag.

When Wong came to stand in front of him again, he wiped at the dirt and blood with a single-minded attention that Stephen had missed so desperately. He pretended the wetness in his eyes was born of pain and not the sting of love.

“How did you know?” Stephen asked quietly. “I was gone. Gave up the time stone. Its been years. How did you know?”

Dark eyes flickered to him before focusing back on his task, “I didn’t. You are reckless more often then not but you’re also smart. I know you Strange. There was no way you gave up the time stone of your own free will.”

“You had no way of knowing it was of my own free will.”

Wong paused. He seemed to be contemplating his answer and Stephen found himself holding his breath, because the look in Wong’s eye was a familiar one if well hidden behind years of stoicism and duty.

“I suppose I didn’t. And I suppose I haven’t always been so sure. But I spoke to Stark,” there was a pause when Stephen winced, stomach twisting with shame and guilt. Wong kept speaking as though nothing happened and Stephen had never been more grateful. “He told me what you said to him and that was all I needed to hear, to know you’d come back.”

Wong stepped away, turning to grab the bandages and disinfectant. Stephen felt like he was standing in front of a void, images flashing across his mind, memories tinted in green and hope.

Wong sitting in front of the fire with a book and tea, glancing up at Stephen’s empty chair. Wong, standing in the doorway of Stephen’s untouched room. Wong speaking into empty air only to pause at the realization he was alone. Wong chuckling to himself at some fond memory. Wong in front of a council of sorcerers, demanding to remain at the Sanctum. Wong stoically ignoring condolences for the loss of his friend. Wong, waiting everyday, for Stephen’s miraculous appearance. Wong having faith in him.

Wong turned back to face him, hands coming up to disinfect the wound and Stephen couldn’t stop himself, “thank you, for waiting for me.”

There was a long pause, the air thick between them with emotions that were long in need of expressing. Now wasn’t the time, not really, not with Stephen’s head beginning to pound and his mind going just a bit fuzzy on the edges.

All the same, Wong didn’t shake his head or mutter about Stephen having a concussion like he expected. No, gentle hands wiped at the wound and reached over for the bandage, applied it just as softly.

Instead of moving away, a hand slid into Stephen’s hair, making his eyes flutter closed, and Wong’s gruff voice, sounding impossibly fond murmured, “I’ll always wait for you Strange, so long as you’ll have me.”

The words were all Stephen needed to finally feel at home. Completely. Lovingly.


End file.
